


Trouble

by zetuslapetus



Category: Good Girls (TV)
Genre: Blood and Injury, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:47:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24229096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zetuslapetus/pseuds/zetuslapetus
Summary: Beth is a defense attorney, she meets Rio when she has to bail him out on behalf of Gretchen.
Relationships: Beth Boland/Rio
Comments: 82
Kudos: 437





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I just feel like Beth and Gretchen would get along really well.

She’s two miles from the school when her phone dings once, then again.

It’s Gretchen.

_Call me, please.  
_ _I need you._

Twenty minutes later Beth finds herself across town at the local FBI office.

“Dean, please, I under - “ she huffs into the phone squeezed between her shoulder and ear as the voice on the other end of the line interrupts her. 

She’s clutching her purse in one hand and trying to sign her name with a pen that doesn’t work. 

“This doesn’t work, do you have another pen?” She asks the woman sitting at the reception desk, chewing gum with her mouth open, staring blankly up at her. “No, not you Dean. Yes, I know it’s my day, I’m sorry, I had an emergency,” she says and mouths a _thank you_ at the girl when she hands Beth a new pen. 

Beth scribbles her name down and grabs the name tag when the receptionist gives it to her. 

“Dean, I have to go, we can talk about it later,” she snaps and hangs up the phone without waiting for an answer. She drops the phone into her purse and faces the tall man who comes out to greet her.

“Jim Turner,” he says and extends a hand, offering a shake. 

Beth ignores the hand and looks him in the eye.

“Where is my client?” 

Jim Turner drops his hand, gives her a disappointed look.

“ _Your_ client?” 

He was expecting Gretchen, she knows. She hadn’t had time to read Rio’s file but Gretchen had given her the basics over the phone and these three had a _history_.

“Take me to my client, Mr. Turner, and he better not have a scratch on him,” she says slowly, reaches out and hands him a crisp, white business card.

Turner takes it, flips it around in his hand, and then looks back up at her.

“I didn’t know Gretchen had another partner.”

Beth gives him the sweetest PTA smile she can muster. 

Turner leads her into the back office to a closed-door where he pauses and turns to her. He opens his mouth to speak but Beth barrels through him and reaches for the handle.

The door swings open to a large, almost empty room. In the middle is a large metal desk with three chairs. Seated at one of them is a man. No one she recognizes but she keeps her face blank. He’s a high profile client, and Gretchen had kept him close and quiet. 

She steps inside and walks up to him. He’s staring at her like he doesn’t know her - because he doesn’t. She hopes Turner doesn’t notice.

“Are you alright?” she asks him, eyes focused on his face. She eyes his split lip. 

He eyes her suspiciously, eyes drop down her body for the briefest moment until they snap back to her face and he nods. 

“Good,” she says and turns her attention back to Turner. “Is my client under arrest?” 

“If he knows what’s good for - “ Turner begins but something inside of Beth snaps.

“I hope, Mr. Turner, for your future at this Bureau that this is nothing more than a brief and cursory holding because from the state of this room and my client,” Beth pauses and looks around, “I will personally be filing misconduct against you.”

Turner stares at her, his jaw clenches. 

“I’ll ask one more time, is my client under arrest?” 

Turner looks over her shoulder briefly, then back to her. 

“He’s free to go.” 

Beth lifts her chin and turns back to the man sitting at the desk. 

He stands and she assesses his face a little closer, looking for any more cuts or bruises. He must notice because he smirks, steps closer to her, and whispers.

“You should see the other guy, counsel.” 

She has to look up a little to keep his eye line as he takes another step closer.

“Not another word until we’re outside.”

She turns, passes by a disgruntled Turner, and looks over her shoulder to make sure Rio’s following her. 

He is. Following, and too close. 

Beth’s heart rate picks up and she scolds herself mentally. She has no problem going toe to toe with the FBI but a man looks at her _that_ way and her insides begin to shake.

She needs to get laid. 

The way he’s looking at her feeds something within her, not sure if its anger or aggression, but she smacks her palm against the receptionist’s desk startling the girl. 

She signs him out, waits for her copies of the paperwork then looks up at him only to find him watching her.

She blinks, takes a deep breath to steady her breathing, slow her heart rate. 

“Did they take anything from you when they brought you in - phone, wallet?” She asks.

He doesn’t speak, just shakes his head _no_ , continues staring at her.

When they’re outside, he speaks first.

“Who are you? Where’s Gretchen?”

Beth digs into her purse and pulls out another card.

“Gretchen’s in labor, I’m Beth.”

He takes the card from her, finally looking away. 

“Elizabeth Boland,” he reads.

“Marks,” she says without thinking.

He looks up, shakes his head.

“It’s Marks, not Boland. I just haven’t had time to change the cards,” she explains and feels herself shrink. 

“Married or Divorced?” He asks and her mouth falls open.

_The gall._

“Divorced.”

He smirks, pockets the card, and steps closer to her.

“Thank you, Elizabeth. That was - “ he pauses, squints for a moment as if he’s trying to find the right word. “Sexy.” 

Her mouth goes dry.

“That’s inappropriate,” she whispers but there’s no bite behind her words.

“Maybe,” he nods with a smile. “I’ll be seeing you, yeah?” 

She blinks, shakes her head. He’s so close that she can see the small indentation on his bottom lip from where he’d bit it.

“Only if you can’t stay out of trouble.”

He laughs, it’s warm and deep. 

“Like I said, I’ll be seeing you,” he says, squeezes her arm and then he’s gone.

She turns to watch him leave until he’s down the steps and off the premises. He crosses the street and turns a corner outside of her view. 

She digs her phone out of her purse and dials Gretchen. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beth and Rio _talk_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, thanks so much for your kind words and reviews!  
> I, too, was surprised at how well this dynamic fit them.  
> Chapter 2 is a bit of filler to flesh out the story, but chapter 3 should be up this week.

The thing that makes Beth so good at this job is her gut - well, her superb poker face and the ability to weave lies together like an easter basket don’t hurt, but really, it’s her gut. She’d spent decades trying to smother it, wasted decades trying to shrink herself until one day she’d tossed it all to the wind.

Coincidentally, it was the same day she’d discovered her now-ex-husband on top of the baby-sitter.

Now, when she feels that familiar twist in her belly, the telltale sign that something just isn’t right, she listens. And _something_ wasn’t right here, she felt it in her gut, in her bones. 

She’d spent three days thinking about Rio, thinking about Turner. Mulling over every part of that day in her mind, again and again. She poured over Gretchen’s file, studied their history, read every note Gretchen had ever made. 

Rio was no small-time criminal but he’d never spent more than a weekend in jail, never had a charge that _stuck_. When she comes across a copy of the retainer agreement between Rio and the firm she chokes on her coffee. 

Then Beth does something she hasn’t done in ages, she calls a law school buddy and grovels. Three hours later and a dinner promise she has no intention to keep she exhales and pours herself a bourbon. In her hand, she clutches a post-it with a single name - Eddie Vasquez. 

Her gut was right, _possibly_. 

Somehow, trying to get ahold of Rio proves harder than rooting out an FBI informant. She calls every single number in his file, after three days of _that_ , she calls Gretchen. 

Gretchen laughs at her, loudly, then she gives her the name of country club in the part of Detroit Beth’s only ever driven through. Apparently, Rio brunches with Detroit’s richest and enjoys tennis.

Beth goes on a Friday morning, a little surprised when they actually let her in. She’d worn a summer dress that’d barely fit her three years ago but it was the only thing in her closet that remotely followed the dress code on the club's website. 

She recognizes the exact moment he sees her from across the tennis courts because he tilts his head to the side and _smiles_.

Jesus.

She’s very aware of just how short her skirt is and how ridiculous she must look with her folders stuffed in a beach bag made of straw. Law school wasn’t this uncomfortable. 

He says his goodbyes to whoever he’s walking with and jogs in her direction, tennis racquet in tow.

“Elizabeth,” he greets her, still smiling. The morning sun is beaming behind her, warming her back and causing him to squint when he looks at her. It’s almost adorable. 

“You’re a hard man to track down,” she says and pulls her straw bag in front of her thighs when she sees his gaze dip. 

“You’ve been looking for me?” 

“I called the number we had on file,” she huffs, a little annoyed. He’d led her on a goose chase for days and he doesn’t even know it.

He shrugs with a faux innocence that makes her want to smack him with her bag.

“Must have been a bad number,” he says, still smiling. 

She fumes a little.

“You gave us a burner phone,“ she says pointedly. Its an accusation, and she knows she’s right. 

He takes a step forwards, dips his head away from the sunlight, closer to her, and nods.

“Gretchen knows how to find me, and now it looks like you do too.”

She lifts her chin and pulls her purse up to her chest, trying however she can to fill the space between their bodies.

“We need to talk.”

She pulls out a manilla folder and he frowns, all playfulness gone from his face.

He nods to the small cafe to the right of them and leads her to a private table away from the other guests. The table is so small that her knee bumps his whens they sit. He spreads his legs to give her room, brackets her between his own, and her stomach drops. The move is so trivial, almost intimate.

She lays the folder out on the table in front of her and speaks.

“They have an informant,” she says, opens the folder and begins shuffling through the papers inside. 

“Eddie Vasquez,” he responds. 

He knows. Of course, he knows. _How_ does he know?

Her eyes jump up to his face. After a beat, she closes the folder and leans in. 

“I’m not Gretchen, Rio,” she says, slowly. It’s meant to be a warning, an expectation that she asks questions and doesn’t take shrugs for an answer. 

But he’s smiling again, and this time he’s so close that she can see smooth lines around his eyes when the smile reaches them.

“Oh, trust me, I know,” he gives her another look, the kind where his gaze drops freely to her chest and suddenly she remembers what she’s wearing again.

Get it _together_ , Beth. 

“How do you know?” She asks.

His hand comes up to cover his mouth, and he leans forwards on his elbow. He’s got a mischievous look on his face like he’s getting ready to say something he knows he’ll get in trouble for.

That’s when she realizes what she’d just asked.

“I meant about the informant,” she adds quickly.

He chuckles and drops his hand to the table.

“He came to me.”

“He came to you?” She parrots back. He blinks at her and leans back into the chair. 

She exhales, annoyed.

“This - “ she points between the two of them, “This only works if you’re honest with me.”

He gives her another smile, closed-lip, nothing like the one when he’d first laid eyes on her.

“Only one of us lies for a living, Elizabeth, and it ain’t me.” 

She almost laughs at that but doesn’t give him the satisfaction. 

“Eddie has a younger brother in the system, Turner found out and cornered him,” he adds. 

Beth frowns, shakes her head. She doesn’t get it.

“Turner has his tricks, he can move him out of state, add time to his sentence, whatever he wants. Turner picked him up and Eddie came to me after,” Rio says. His jaw muscles jump.

“So, what now?” Beth asks.

“Now, Eddie goes away for a bit,” he murmurs.

Beth reels, physically. She’d watched enough mob movies to know what _going away_ meant.

Rio seems to know exactly what she’s thinking because he’s laughing at her.

“Relax, counselor, he’s laying low out of the country for a bit. When their star witness doesn’t show up they’ll have to drop it,” he says and she exhales.

They sit in silence for a moment, she has so many questions.

“I can keep his brother here,” she says. “I’ll add him to the docket as a witness in the case. Turner won’t be able to move him as long as the case is active.”

Rio squints like he almost doesn’t believe her. 

“I think the words you’re looking for are _thank_ _you_ ,” she says. 

He smiles, again. Really smiles. 

“Thank you, Elizabeth.” 

It makes her feel brave.

“One more thing - I need to be able to reach you without hunting you down.”

“I don’t think I mind it,” he says, then he reaches over and grabs the pen she’d pulled out of her purse. He scribbles a number on her folder and taps it with the pen. “That’s not for the file,” he says.

_Just for you._

She nods.

Her phone rings, Dean’s name flashes across the caller ID and the moment’s gone.

“Do you need to get that?” He says, eyes the phone for a moment before Beth flips it over.

She shakes her head.

“Ex-husband?” he asks and Beth cringes inwardly. She’d added Dean’s last name to his contact card and Rio had seen the name on her business card.

She nods.

“Kids?”

She nods again.

“Four.”

He whistles, then his eyes soften. 

“I’ve got one and he’s a hell-raiser.” 

Her eyes widen.

“That wasn’t in the file,” she says, mouth speaking before her brain can process what he’d just told her.

“You been reading up on me, Elizabeth?” he asks, his voice too deep and she feels a shudder rip through her. 

It’s too much, then, the tension settles deep in her belly. She clears her throat before she speaks again.

“I need to talk to Eddie before he leaves,” she says.

“Nah,” he frowns.

“Rio - “

“For what?” He snaps, “You don’t trust me?”

“I need to know everything Turner said to him so that we can be ready if we need to be.”

He doesn’t speak, he studies her for some time. He knows she’s right.

“Fine,” he rolls his shoulders. “But you gotta come to us.”

“I can do that.”

Days later she pulls into a motel right by the border. She sits in her car for some time, takes deep breaths, looks around. It’s dark outside, getting colder each day. The parking lot is empty and she feels a pang of something unfamiliar in her stomach. _Fear_. 

She finds the room, raises a hand to knock but it swings open before her knuckles make contact with the wood. 

It’s Rio, except he’s not smiling, he’s not greeting her.

He’s not happy to see her.

She shakes that thought off, scolds herself. 

He opens the door all the way, lets her inside. The room is small but warm. On the couch is a man - a boy, really. He’s younger, sporting a tattoo on the side of his neck, much like Rio but he looks scared. His eyes bulge out when he sees her, then he looks over Beth’s shoulder, to Rio. 

Rio, whos standing right behind her. 

“Eddie?” she asks and he nods, stands up, and rubs his palms down his pants before he extends a handshake to her.

She smiles, genuinely. Tattoos or not, he’s got a kind face and wide eyes. 

“Ask what you need to know, Elizabeth,” Rio says over her shoulder. She thinks she can almost feel his breath in her hair.

She spins on the ball of her foot to face him and takes a sharp breath. He’s too close. She has to look up to catch his eyes. 

“I need you to leave,” she says and he gives her a bewildered look. 

“Not happening,” he grunts out.

She lets out a huff. She knows what the way Eddie looks to Rio means. He’s always asking for permission, and if he’s asking for permission it means he’s scared of him. If he’s scared of him he won’t be honest with her.

“I need to talk to him without you looming over his shoulder.”

He shakes his head, opens his mouth to argue with her but she interrupts him.

“Please,” she says. Then she does something stupid, she reaches out and grabs a fist full of his jacket and tugs. “Please,” she whispers again. She can’t look away. His eyes are dark, his gaze serious, and almost scary. But she doesn’t feel the way she felt in the parking lot, somehow she doesn’t feel anything but warmth. 

He breaks first, looks up at Eddie. 

“You got fifteen minutes.”

Her breath stutters, fingers flex, and she lets go of him. 

“Thank you.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rio does something stupid - ok a lot of stupid.

He leaves the room, stands outside the motel door, and waits. He pulls his phone out, checks the time, mentally adds fifteen minutes to it,  _ and waits. _

He can feel the tension in his shoulders radiate the longer he waits.  This was a bad fuckin’ idea. He’d just left her in there with Eddie, he doesn’t even know her.  He’d called Gretchen as soon as he’d gotten home that first night. She’d assured him Beth was the best - _ a bulldog.  _

After eleven minutes the door opens and Eddie steps out, wide-eyed, and a little worse for wear. 

“She said she can protect my brother,” Eddie exhales, dazed. “She’s not Gretchen, is she?” 

Rio bounces off the railing, answers him in passing.

“No, she’s not.”

Gretchen’s the best attorney he’s ever known, damn well worth every penny, but Gretchen wins to win. Elizabeth - well, he ain’t sure about Elizabeth yet. 

She’s sitting in the kitchenette, scribbling rapidly on a notepad. 

“You good?” 

She looks up, briefly, then back to her notes. She’s wearing glasses. They’d fallen down the bridge of her nose so she reaches up, pushes them up with the back of her hand before finishing her notes. 

_ Christ _ .

He shifts from one foot to the other. 

She looks up at him again, shakes her head.

“It doesn’t make sense,” she says with a wave of her hand over the notes. “Whatever Turner has, it’s not enough, but he’s making moves like it is. I need to make some calls.”

She packs her stuff, stands up, and looks to the door. She looks uncomfortable in a way he’d not seen yet. He’d made her squirm a few times, sure, especially when he realized how pretty she blushes, but this was different. She looks scared, almost.

“Come on, I’ll walk you out.” 

When she’s in her car, she rolls the window down before he can leave.

“You know that you can’t leave with Eddie, right?” She says slowly.

He leans an arm on the window, dips his head down - a bad idea because her car smells like her.

“This ain’t my first time at the rodeo, darling.”

She blushes again. 

Pretty, pink.

Then she rolls her eyes. 

“I know, I’ve seen your rap sheet.”

“Yeah? What else does that file say?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” she snaps back playfully. 

It’s cold outside, he can see his breath in front of him and he clocks the moment her eyes flicker down to his mouth. It’s quick but he catches it and she knows it, too. 

There are moments like these where he thinks he’s losing his fuckin’ mind. Moments when it feels like the air’s just been sucked out, when the blood rushes into his ears and all he can think about is what she’d taste like. 

“I need to make some calls and talk to Gretchen, then I’ll call you,” she says. 

He nods, lifts off the car, and puts some distance between them.

Then she’s rolling her window up and she’s gone. When he turns back he sees Eddie upstairs, smoking and watching him. He doesn’t say a word. 

Three days later Eddie’s gone.  Life returns to normal. He ignores the desperate calls from his distributor, tired of explaining why he’s shut down and he waits for Elizabeth. 

All hell breaks loose on Saturday. 

His bar is usually a smooth operation but his best bouncer has mono - _ fuckin’ kids  _ \- which is how Rio finds himself in the middle of a brawl.  The cops get called, and all it takes is one of them running his name through the system.

Fuckin’ Turner.  He’s in the back of a car and at the station before midnight. 

The thing about jail is they hardly ever let you make the call yourself. He doesn’t bother giving Gretchen’s number, he gives them Elizabeths and he waits.

It doesn’t take long before the gate buzzes and he’s being led down the hall to a very angry looking Elizabeth.  She’s wearing a long coat, a pair of those ugly furry boots he sees the college girls wearing all the time and glasses, again. Her hair is pinned back and her cheeks red.  She doesn’t say anything to him, just pushes a plastic bag into his chest - his stuff, and walks off.  She looks back once to make sure he’s following. When they’re outside and in the parking garage she spins and pokes him in the chest, hard.

“What are you doing?” She’s pissed. “We can’t afford shit like this, not with Turner watching your every move and just waiting for an opportunity. A bar fight, I mean, really - ” she frowns.

He grabs her wrist and tugs her forward, hard. She loses her footing and stumbles into him. Her other hand plants on his chest to steady herself. 

“Are you done?” he asks. She’s close enough that he can smell alcohol on her. She’d been drinking. 

She pulls her hand out of his grasp and pushes against his chest.

“You’re making my job very difficult,” she says, then she exhales softly. 

“Am I?”

She shakes her head.

“When you do shit like this, yes. I can’t protect you when you act like -” 

Something in his chest twists.

“I don’t need you to protect me,” he snaps.

She blinks, looks at him with a blank expression. 

“Then what am I doing here?” 

He shrugs.

“What  _ are _ you doing here?” He parrots back. He’s egging her on, he knows, but now she’s pissing him off.

She scoffs.

“I’m not playing this game with you,” she says with a dry laugh and turns to her car. “I know it’s amusing for you, playing with me - ”

“Playing with you?” 

“Yes, don’t - “ 

He grabs her arm, at the elbow, and spins her. She moves easily, body pliant from the liquor running through her.

He slides a hand across her jaw, slips a thumb under her chin to lift her head and kisses her. He licks her mouth open, sucks her tongue into his mouth, and walks her back until she’s flush against her car. It’s wet and slow.

She lets out a soft moan. His other hand slips to the back of her head, he grabs a fistful of hair and tugs softly. The move causes her head to tip back and when they part he doesn’t step away. She tastes like alcohol, whiskey, maybe.

“Does that feel like I’m playing with you?” He asks against her mouth. 

Her eyes flutter open, she grabs his wrists and tugs his hands down. 

“You can’t do that,” she breathes out. 

When she brings his hands down he looks between them and almost chokes.

Her coat had come loose revealing the edge of a lacy, maroon tank, and the heavy swell of her cleavage. He slips a finger into the belt tied across her middle and the coat spills open with one tug. She’s wearing the shortest pair of sleep shorts he’s ever seen, the same color as the top.

“Jesus,” he groans, eyes glued to the pale, smooth skin of her thighs. 

“It’s almost midnight, I was in bed,” she says, still dazed. She pulls the coat closed, wraps her arms around her body.

When he looks up at her she’s still breathing hard, cheeks flushed but the anger is gone. 

“Don’t do any more stupid shit, please,” she says and pushes against his chest. 

He likes whiskey Elizabeth, he thinks. She’s bossy and she’s got a dirty mouth. 

“Maybe I like you coming to my rescue,” he says. He’d meant it as a taunt, wanted to see if he could make her blush again. Somehow it doesn’t sound the way he’d intended. 

They stand there for a moment, looking at each other in an empty parking lot. He wonders how late it is. She doesn’t respond back, her eyes fall to his lips, and her mouth parts slightly. She shakes her head softly and pulls her car door open.

“I’ll call you,” she says. He waits until she pulls out and turns the corner, then he pulls his phone out and calls Mick. 

Three days later she calls him, refuses to tell him anything over the phone, and asks him to meet her in her office. He feels his adrenaline spike.

It’s the first time he’s been in the building, he realizes. Gretchen always met him on his turf, and here he was, at Elizabeth’s beck and call. 

She’s seated behind a large mahogany desk, papers strewn all around her. She’s wearing glasses again. She looks up when he walks in, thanks her receptionist, and then finally looks at him. 

The office smells like leather and her. He takes a seat and she licks her lips before she speaks.

“How’s Eddie?” She asks.

Rio frowns, shakes his head in question. She knows damn well how Eddie is.

She lets out a soft breath, takes her glasses off, and leans her arms on the desk.

“Turner,” she says, and Rio’s stomach twists. “I don’t think Eddie was his witness, at least not the one he’s building his case around.”

“What does that mean?”

“I have it on good authority that he’s submitting evidence to the judge for an arrest warrant tomorrow morning,” she says and her jaw clenches. She looks like she’d looked the last time he saw her - angry. 

“Are you sure?”

She nods, terse.

“I went to law school with the judge’s clerk.”

Rio leans back into his chair, rolls his shoulders. 

“What does that mean?”

“You’ll turn yourself in - “ she begins but he scoffs and shakes his head, interrupting her. “You’ll turn yourself in,” she says again, low and quiet. “Then, I will post your bail and we’ll build our case.”

He feels the beginnings of a headache sprout right in the middle of his forehead. 

“I have to ask, do you have any idea who it could be?” She asks.

He shakes his head.

_ Lie _ . 

He knows damn well who it is. When he looks at her again she knows it too. 

“Rio - “ she begins but he cuts her off with a wave of his hand.

“How long?”

“Meet me back here at eight tomorrow, and we’ll go in together. I’ll get everything ready tonight. If they don't cooperate tomorrow it may be a few hours before I can’t post bail,” she says, and her tone is clinical but her eyes are soft. She looks worried. 

He can’t take his eyes off of her, her face, her mouth. All he can think about is the noise she'd made when he'd kissed her.

He'd kissed her, fuck. He hopes he can do that again.

“Not my first time, remember?” He nods, gives her a quick smile.

She doesn’t return it.

It’s quiet for a moment, neither of them speaks. The sounds of traffic outside bleeds into the room. It’s already getting dark outside, and soon it’ll be tomorrow. He wonders, briefly, if he could convince her to get a drink with him. Maybe when they post bail.

Then he’s standing up. It’s late and he has a long night ahead of him.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Elizabeth.”

When she says his name it's so quiet he almost misses it.

“Don’t do anything stupid, please,” she says. She’d put her glasses back on.

“I can’t make any promises,” he says. 

_ That’s why I have you _ , is what he means. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beth gets a visitor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First - apologies this update took forever. I, like many of you, am in a slump.   
> Second - Michigan does not allow anyone to sit for the bar without a JD but we're going to ignore that - also please note updated TW for blood thanks!

The thing is, Beth had never considered practicing law or doing anything quite so  _ distinguished _ in life. She’d fallen into it, is what she tells people when they ask because she had. After mom died, with Annie in community college, Beth’s first real job was paralegal work for a DUI attorney. Shit work, long hours, and five years later she was sitting for the bar with no formal education under her belt. And she’d passed.

Two weeks later Gretchen had sought her out after hearing about  _ the second  _ woman in Detroit to sit for the bar without a degree and offered her a job on the spot. Overnight she’d become Beth Marks, Junior DA at Zorada Law. 

_ “It just makes sense, you know, you’re always taking care of everyone else,” _ Annie had said one day, and something in Beth had snapped.

She hadn’t known it then, but she knows it now. Something in her had snapped, and begun unraveling slowly. She’d raised Annie, not that she’ll ever regret that. Mom was barely sober enough to put food on the table, let alone raise a rambunctious kid. Then she’d raised four of her own, hell, sometimes it felt like she was still raising Dean. Through it all she’d built a name for herself in the legal world, and a reputation. She’d made partner and even beat Gretchen’s defense record all before turning thirty-five.

She was proud, but she was tired. 

She’d stayed late in the office after Rio had left that night, drafted what she’d needed to post his bail whenever Turner decided to make a move. She’d packed up and finally left at half-past nine to an eerily quiet house. She still hasn't gotten used to the silence when Dean has the kids, not sure she ever would. She gets ready for bed and makes herself a cup of tea to calm the humming in her body. It’s an unfamiliar feeling,  _ nerves - _ both, body, and mind on edge just  _ waiting _ . 

“Come on, Beth,” she scolds herself out loud as she unloads the dishwasher.  _ Grow up. _

This isn’t her first case or her first anything. She keeps running over the evidence in her head. She considers what evidence Turner could have, how  _ she’d _ move with what he had. She thinks about Eddie, Eddie’s brother, thinks about Rio and where he is. Thinks about what he’s doing, and if _he’s_ nervous. She keeps thinking about the work so she doesn’t think about the kiss or the way his body felt when he’d pushed her up against the car. 

Her mind reels, so she ditches the tea, pours herself a real drink, and shuffles through the DVR. After two episodes of the Bachelor which she doesn’t pay attention to, she feels the bourbon work its magic. Her face is warm, limbs heavy. Her eyes are drifting shut when she hears it - shuffling,  _ scratching _ . At first, she thinks she’d imagined it, then she hears a distinct  _ thump _ .

Her heart jumps into her throat, but her feet move her. It’s late, she has no idea how late, but it’s probably an animal. She’d left the trashcans open before, possums had gotten in and destroyed the bags. Yeah, she nods to herself as she steps into the kitchen and flips the light on. 

Except it’s not an animal. 

She almost wishes it was.

It’s Rio. 

She moves, quick. With another few steps, she’s at the door, unlocking it and letting him stumble in. He’s clutching his side, face bloody. 

_ He knows where you live _ , the thought flashes through her mind. 

He tumbles inside, tells her to lock the door. She does. 

Every time he inhales it sounds funny.  _ Jesus _ .

“What happened?” she asks, her voice shakes. She’s seen worse, heard worse, but only in photos and by testimony. She’d never held it in her arms.

She helps him slide onto a stool, arm still wrapped around his middle. He shakes his head at her question like it hurts to speak.

“Jesus,” she hisses, grabs the hand towel off the stove handle, and runs water over it. She wipes a streak of blood at his chin, but it's dry and doesn’t budge. She looks at his arm, pulls his jacket open and gasps. Blood. So much blood.

“It’s not as bad as - “ he wheezes.

“Shut up,” she snaps, pulls at the arm around his waist until he gives in. Her buzz is gone, her heart’s still in her throat and she’s shaking, but not from fear. She’s angry.

She pulls his jacket off, lifts the shirt, and feels her breath escape her chest. It's a cut, right above the edge of his jeans. The skin around it is so red and bloody that she can’t tell how deep or wide it goes. She grabs the towel, wipes at it and he grunts. His stomach clenches and she softens the pressure. When she looks up at him, he’s looking at her with eyes half shut. Her stomach twists, she doesn’t know whether she wants to hit him or kiss him. __

She runs the towel under the water again, the color of the water shocks her. She leaves the water running, turns back to him, cleans the wound as softly as she can.

“Elizabeth,” he starts but stops when her eyes snap shut.

“I don’t want to know,” she says with a shake of her head, then she opens her eyes again and wipes at the cut. “It’s better if I don’t know,” she says again, softer this time.

_ I can lie better if I don’t know. _

His jaw is clenched, she’s not sure if from the pain or her, she doesn’t care. He’s got an arm on the kitchen island to steady himself, and his eyes follow every move she makes. Every time she turns back to the sink to rinse the towel. When she cleans the cut as best as she can she throws the towel into the sink. It makes a loud, wet smack when it lands. 

She walks out, grabs a first aid kit from the hall closet, and the bottle of bourbon. When she comes back he’s still sitting in the same spot, eyes closed, brows furrowed. She uncorks the bottle, takes a swig, and sets it by his arm. Then she cracks the first aid kit open.

“Why are you here?” she says, bites into a roll of bandage and rips it open. When he doesn’t answer she looks at him and he stares for a moment. His eyes drop down to her lips and he exhales. She shakes her head, takes a deep breath, and fishes out the antibiotic cream. She shuffles through the kit, but there are no butterfly stitches in there and the cut is too wide for a bandage alone. Her hands are shaking still. 

She curses, pushes the kit away, and turns away from him. There are butterfly bandages in Kenny’s hockey bag, she remembers, still in there from the time he took a puck to the face.  _ He’s _ there before she can step away, though, hand wrapped around her arm.

“I could have solved this without - “ she starts then pauses. “I would have -”

He shakes his head, squeezes his grip around her arm. 

“This is the life,” he says.

She scoffs, pulls her arm out of his grip. 

“ _ Bullshit _ , I would have fought it,” she huffs.

She would have given her all, gone against Turner, and whatever witness he had. 

“I know you would have, ma,” he says, nods and lets his arm drop to his side.

“You didn’t even let me try,” she says, a little defeated. “You could have died.”

He looks up at her, eyes a little brighter. He’s smiling.

“Nah,” he whispers. “I’m okay.”

“You’re bleeding in my kitchen.”

She feels fingers wrap around the back of her knee, light and tentative. He slides them up to her bare thigh, right to the edge of the robe she’s wearing.

She takes a sharp breath, looks down at his hand and frowns.

“Rio,” she warns.

He’s still bleeding, she needs to wrap the cut, finish cleaning his face.

He hums, still staring at her and wraps his hand fully around her lower thigh. 

“You don’t get to do that,” she says, then she steps to the side and out of his grip. It brings her to the other side of his knee, and she’s almost straddling him now. Just one step forward and she’s in his lap.  _ Jesus _ . 

He smirks. “Do what?”

She takes a steadying breath, steps back, and finds Kenny’s bag. There are exactly three butterfly stitches left. When she comes back he’s drinking the bourbon from the bottle.

“This is shit bourbon,” he says between gulps. 

“Yeah, well, it’s the best you get right now,” she says, rips the butterfly stitches open and pushes his shoulder back. “Don’t slouch.”

“Do you know what you’re doing?” He whispers when she leans in to expect the cut. She looks up at him through her lashes and gives him the best death glare she can muster.

He’s teasing her.

“The hospital is three miles south of here,” she snaps.

“Nah, no hospitals,” he grunts when she places the first stitch.

“I wonder why,” she muses under her breath, snaps the second stitch on. They hold well.

“I thought you didn’t want to know.”

She snaps the third stitch on a little harder than she has to, he grunts and his abs contract in the most delicious way. He lets out a soft breath when he realizes she’s done.

“I don’t want to know, I just want to - “ she pauses, unrolls the bandage she’d ripped open a few minutes ago.

“What?” 

“I want you to let me do my job.”

She pulls the bandage open and he shakes his head, nods down to the antibacterial cream on the table.

“Clean it first,” he instructs, “I’m not stopping you from doing your job.”

She slaps her hand on the kitchen counter over the pack of antibacterial gel. 

“I can’t do my job when you’re out here doing God only knows what the night before they issue a warrant for your arrest,” she’s ranting. 

She opens the pack of gel and squeezes it on the bandage. “My job is to protect your interests and I can’t do that when - ” she pauses when he grunts at how hard she smacks the bandage across his middle. “Sorry,” she whispers, holds her hand and the bandage against his cut. He bends forward, eyes squeezed shut in pain.

“Hold this,” she says and he grunts and nods. She measures and cuts the tape to secure the bandage.

“Protect my interests, hmm?” He hums, looking up at her with a smirk, still bent at the waist.

God, how can he make even that sound lewd?

She tapes one side of the bandage, then the other. 

“How long have you been with Gretchen?” Beth asks. 

She’s curious, sure. Gretchen had brought her in on more than a few of her high profile cases through her career but she’d never even heard about Rio, let alone his case. And from the file she’d reviewed, there’d been years and  _ years _ of cases. She tries to imagine what their partnership would have looked like - the Gretchen Beth knows would have never settled for this type of behavior. 

He’s still smiling.

“That ain’t in the file?” 

She tapes the last edge of the bandage, shoo’s his hand away to make sure it's not bleeding through. 

“I’m sure a lot isn’t in the file,” she says, then she makes the mistake of looking at him. His eyes look sleepy, she wonders if from the blood loss or maybe just  _ this _ . He raises the bottle to his lips, takes another swig without breaking eye contact then hands the bottle out to her.

She takes it but doesn’t drink. 

“Turner will submit evidence tomorrow, and you’ll still have to turn yourself in.”

“I know,” he nods.

“I am  _ assuming _ that his witness will not be cooperative,” she says with a roll of her eyes like it's an annoying assessment to admit. He nods again. 

She looks up at the cut on his brow and reaches out to touch it. He grabs her wrist before it can touch his face and pulls her into him.

“You really wanna  _ protect my interests  _ or you just wanna go up against Turner?” He asks, eyes focused on her face. She frowns, briefly distracted by his hand wrapped around her own, by being so close to him. 

“I’m not Gretchen,” she shakes her head. “If we can avoid litigation we will but we also won’t settle for third-rate deals, which is what Turner will offer.” 

“We?” He whispers. He’s too close, and her necks craned in the most uncomfortable way. She hums, nods. Her mouth is so dry she wishes she’d have taken that sip of bourbon right about now. 

His eyes drop to her lips and he shifts his head to the side, leans in a little closer. The humming in her body’s back, but this time it for sure has nothing to do with the bourbon. 

“I need to clean your face,” she whispers.

He shakes his head.

“Nah, you don’t,” he responds into her mouth, and then he’s kissing her again. She sighs into it, lets her body relax into his own. This is a bad idea but his mouth is hot and soft and it's been a long time since she’s been kissed and even longer since she’s been kissed  _ properly _ . She thinks she can taste the alcohol on his lips.

He slides a palm around her jaw, holds her in place, and licks into her mouth. He moves softly like any quick movement will scare her off and break the moment. She pulls away to take a breath after a moment, looks down to where he’s still holding her hand. The bandage across his middle is stained red.

“You’re bleeding,” she whispers. He noses into her cheek, leans forward to capture her mouth again.

“I don’t care,” he responds between kisses, tugs her closer. She’s nudged between his legs, neck still bent down to meet his mouth. 

“Rio,” she chides him but it doesn’t sound very stern. It's too breathy and soft. She tugs her hand out of his grip, slides it across his shirt covered pec, and pushes slightly. His mouth follows hers when she pulls away, eyes still closed. She slides her palm to the dip where his neck meets his shoulder and squeezes. 

She doesn’t realize how hard she’s panting until she notices the way his chest heaves and how hers matches his breath for breath. She runs a thumb over the bottom of the tattoo splayed across his neck and takes a deep breath. 

“We can’t do this,” she says. 

It’s a bad idea, unethical really. She could get disbarred for this.

_ You could get disbarred for a lot of things, _ she thinks, _ including witness intimidation.  _

He doesn’t respond, he licks his lips and slides a hand between her legs. She squeezes her thighs, trapping his hand before he can slide home and exhales sharply.

“I can’t stop thinking about those shorts, and you coming for me wearing nothing but that,” he groans, let’s his forehead lull forward until it’s resting against her shoulder. Then he noses forward, slides his face into her neck, and kisses at her exposed clavicle. His mouth is hot, wet and she has to grab the kitchen island to steady herself. 

“I was in bed when they called.”

He groans at that, squeezes her thigh, and stands. When he slides his hand out, she misses the warmth. His shirt falls back into place and he grabs her hips to steady her when he pushes off the stool. His balance is suspiciously good for someone who’d just been bleeding out on her kitchen floor. 

“You can’t say things like that and expect me to keep my hands to myself,” he grunts and squeezes her hips. The action pulls at her robe, and he rumples the material in his grip.

“Because you’re so good at keeping your hands to yourself,” she huffs.

He laughs, deeply, from his chest. He slides his palms up her sides, and around her back. It tugs the robe far enough up that she feels the kitchen counter against her bare skin. He’s all hard lines, hard chest pressing against her own, the kitchen counter at her back. She can feel his belt buckle digging into her belly and  _ him _ right below. 

He grabs her chin, lifts it up, and when she thinks he’s about to kiss her again, he speaks.

“You gonna get a drink with me after you break me out?”

“After I break you out?” She laughs, lets her head tip back. “You mean after I post your bail.”

He hums, shrugs and leans in to kiss her again. 

“Maybe you can wear those shorts again when you do,” he says into her mouth and she gasps, opens her mouth to respond but then he’s licking into her mouth and she forgets what her point was. She must shift against him, she doesn't remember but he pulls out of the kiss and inhales sharply at the pain. She lifts his shirt to look at the cut. It’s bleeding again.

“You need actual medical attention,” she says and pulls the shirt down. “From someone who knows what they’re doing.” 

“You didn’t answer my question.”

She frowns, confused for a moment. _ The drink. _ She wants to say no, wants to smack some sense into him for ignoring the fact that he’s still bleeding. She needs to smack some sense into herself for everything that’s happened in the last week but the feel of his body is overwhelming. 

“Will you get that taken care of if I say yes?” She asks with a nod to his belly.

He nods but doesn’t make a move to step away from her.

“Yes,” she says. Then she pushes on his chest again, and he lets her. He pulls his phone out, starts typing a message to someone. “Do you have somewhere - “ she starts to ask but then pauses. She wants to know he has somewhere to go, someone who will take care of it but she hesitates, suddenly self-conscious.

He pauses, looks up at her, and nods briefly before he finishes the text and pockets his phone again.

She wants to know, but she bites her tongue.

_ Well _ . 

“Why did you come here? To scare me?” She asks anyways. 

He shifts his head, looks at her curiously. 

“You scared of me?” His expression is blank again.

She considers that for a moment. She should be, probably. From the tattoos to the way he looks at her -  _ to his record, oh yeah, that.  _

For whatever reason, she’s not. He makes her shake, but not from fear.

She shakes her head softly, and his jaw ticks. He doesn't believe her. 

“You were covered in blood,  _ wheezing _ . Yeah, you scared me, but I’m not afraid of you,” she whispers. 

His eyes drop to her neck, then lower, but he doesn’t ogle her. His eyes are hard like he’s fighting with himself internally. Then he takes another step backward. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Elizabeth.”

When he leaves she scrubs her hands, throws the towel away, and takes the bottle of bourbon to bed. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeeey. One more after this one :)

She’s late, and she’s already spilled coffee in her lap before she’d even left the house. Sleep hadn’t come easily last night, she pretends like she doesn’t know why. It’s almost scary how easy it is to ignore the pit of anxiety settled deep in her belly that flares at every thought of Rio. 

Rio. 

He’s parked under a tree, his sleek dark car a sore thumb amongst the patrol cars. She knows it’s him before he even steps out.

When he does, finally step out, she can’t help but notice the matching dark rings around his eyes. 

“You ready?” she asks with a small smile when he’s close enough. She’s using her sweet voice, the one she uses on her kids when they’re sick. It’s pathetic because it's not even for him, it's for her, the anxiety she feels at what they’re about to do. 

Her eyes drop to his middle, to where she knows he’s got what's probably still a painful cut. He clocks it with a small smirk.

“Never done this before,” he rumbles with a shake of his head. He sticks his hands in the pockets of his jacket and shrugs.

“What?”

“Surrendered.”

She rolls her eyes in response and laughs.

When he doesn’t smile back she stutters, mouth dropping open at the realization that he’s not joking.

“You’re not - “ she exhales, “Surrendering.”

“No?” He asks and steps closer. “Feels like it.”

“Well it’s not,” she snaps back, a little insulted, and tilts her chin up to keep his eye contact. “I’m here and I’ll have you out in hours.”

“Yeah?” 

He takes another step closer until the toes of his black sneakers touch the tips of her kitten heels. She forces herself to not react.

When he slips his hands out of his pockets and reaches out she pulls back, takes one step back then another. 

She pulls the manilla folder she’s holding up to her chest and shakes her head. 

She needs distance, space, fresh air that doesn’t smell like him. If he touches her right now she’s not sure she’d be able to follow him inside and do what needs to be done. 

“Yes,” she whispers. 

He gets it and doesn’t try to get any closer so she turns around to face the jail and starts walking. He follows but hangs behind. After a moment she turns, looks over her shoulder to make sure he hasn’t run away when she catches him. 

He’s staring, blatantly, at her bottom. The pencil skirt she’d slipped on that morning is older - something she’d bought years ago before the kids, and too tight. The years of wear and tear had softened the material and it’d become one of her favorites. 

His eyes snap up to her face and he smiles without an ounce of shame at being caught. It makes him look so young, so strikingly different that she feels her breath catch. 

Her cheeks burn but something else blooms in her chest, excitement. 

That type of attention would have disgusted her before, scared her even, but the way his eyes crinkle makes her wonder what he’d look like in the morning. Is he soft and hazy when he wakes, is he grumpy before coffee - does he even drink coffee?

She takes a deep breath and forces herself to stop, snaps out of her daydream when he slides closer, and pulls the door of the jail open for her.

The cold AC air hits her suddenly and she takes a few steadying breaths before her eyes fall to Turner at the front desk, waiting for them with a shit-eating grin plastered across his face.

The hallway is too narrow for her and Rio to fit side-by-side so she walks forwards, letting Rio trail behind her, safe for now. 

Turner bounces off the wall and spins a pair of handcuffs around his finger with eager eyes. He’s staring over Beth’s shoulder, eyes focused on Rio - no doubt attempting to intimidate the man behind her. 

She turns back to Rio, ready to reassure him again, but stumbles when her eyes fall across his hard gaze. 

Gone is the soft face that’d just smiled at her minutes ago; this Rio, she barely recognizes.

Turner nods at a deputy before he utters a word, giving the man a silent command to approach and apprehend Rio.

Beth spots the round man before he makes it to them, his heavy belt bouncing uncomfortably around his waist with each step that brings him closer. She raises a hand, points at the deputy with a sharp finger, stopping him mid-stride. 

Something different flares in her belly, rage, she recognizes. It settles comfortably, adrenaline familiarly spiking as she focuses on Turner. This she knows how to do. 

“The warrant, agent Turner?” She snaps at Turner without even looking at the deputy, arm still raised out. 

She takes a tiny step to the side, a little closer to the deputy, and settles her body between him and Rio. It’s pointless, really but it makes her feel better. 

Turner makes a dumb facial expression and taps his temple once. 

“How could I forget?” He says sarcastically and leans over the receptionist's desk. He pulls out a large yellow envelope and thrusts it at Beth. 

She already knows what’s inside, knows exactly the charges laid out against Rio. They’re serious, and maybe even true, but it doesn’t make her feel any less protective over someone she’d only met weeks ago.

She rips the envelope open, scans quickly for the charge, and nods. The deputy moves again at her command and she quickly turns to face Rio.

He’s so close she can see the tiny little lines that frame his eyes, the skin there a little darker. His head hangs down, tired eyes boring into her own.

Her eyes fall down to his middle before she forces herself to make eye contact with him again.

“Nothing here I didn’t already know about,” she whispers, nodding down to the papers. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

He nods once, lets the deputy grab his arm, and pulls it behind his back with no fight. He doesn’t react, just continues staring at her in silence as he’s cuffed. 

It feels like an eternity, one arm, then the other. 

It makes her chest hurt, makes her shake a little. 

“Remember, not a word,” her eyes fall to his mouth as the corner of his lip edges up into the smallest smirk and he nods. Then the deputy’s pulling him away, through a door and out of her sight. 

“Elizabeth,” Turner says and Beth lets out a soft breath of annoyance. She’d almost forgotten about him. 

“It would benefit your client to consider a deal with - “ 

Beth blinks, shakes her head, and cuts him off before he can finish offering whatever shit deal he’d cooked up with the prosecutor. 

“The prosecutor knows where to find me, Agent Turner.” 

“Elizabeth -”

She pauses with a hand on the door handle and turns back.

“I’ll be back before he’s booked, Agent, so work fast because I will.”

She pushes through the door and beelines it to her car. The coffee from this morning and the adrenaline thrumming through her body pushes her forwards and fast. 

Another coffee and an hour late her phone rings. 

Dean.

She’d ignore it but he’s got the kids so she hits print on her document, grabs her purse to pack up, and takes the call.

Dean is impossible to understand, there’s so much noise in the background and he’s stuttering over his words. 

She feels her pulse pick up, feels the hairs on her neck stand at attention.

“Dean - slow down, what happened?” She says into the phone. 

“I-I didn’t know the marinara had mushrooms and I - “

She jumps out of her chair so quickly that it rolls back and bounces off the wall.

Danny’s been allergic to mushrooms for as long as she could remember, something they’d discovered when he was five. 

“Where are you?” 

“Detroit Regional hospital, I’m sorry Beth -”

“I’ll be there in fifteen,” she snaps the phone shut and runs. 

She doesn’t stop shaking until she’s in the room with a pale-faced Danny who’s smiling too hard from whatever drugs they’d given him. 

She doesn’t make it home until hours later, alone. 

Danny goes home with Dean and Beth cries on the drive home.

When she gets home she phones her paralegal who tells her, a little too excitedly, that they’d filed the bail paperwork with no issue and that Rio was released hours ago. He’d asked for her, she tells Beth on a soft exhale, a little too enamored by the case no doubt.

Just like you - echoes in her head.

After a long shower, she locks up, fingers itching to call him as she settles in for the night. She wants to know how it went, was he treated well, did they hurt him? 

She’s his attorney, she tells herself, she has a right to these questions.

Not at half-past eleven, you don't. 

More than anything she wants to say sorry for not being there.

“Christ,” she groans into the quiet room and looks at the phone resting on her nightstand, mocking her. 

She scrambles forwards, tosses her blanket away, and paws for the phone. She scrolls through her phone until she finds his contact card, saved right above Ruby’s. 

What would Ruby say?

Christ.

She dials, puts the phone up to her ear, and throws herself on the bed.

It rings, once, twice then again. She’s about to chicken out and hang up when she finally hears the click and then his voice.

“Thought you forgot about me, counselor,” he says quietly, voice light enough that she knows he’s joking, flirting, even. 

As if that was even possible, she thinks, and her belly twists at the thought that this will all be over soon and she’ll have to.

“I’m sorry - “

“It’s alright, your assistant told me,” he says quickly, the flirtatious tone gone. He’s serious when he speaks again. “How’s the little man?”

She’d told him, Beth groans internally, slating a reminder in the back of her mind to discuss appropriate client boundaries with her paralegal. 

“He’s alright, he’s with his dad.”

“How come?” 

“What?” 

“When I was little and sick there ain’t nobody I wanted but my ‘ma,” he says softly and Beth’s eyes suddenly burn, tears prickling in the corner of her eyes again. 

“Yeah, well his dad and I have a very strict custodial agreement,” she exhales, a little annoyed when she realizes what they’re talking about, and what she’d actually called to talk about.

“He keeps you from your own kids?” Rio asks slowly and his tone is dark and cold and she feels a panic in her chest.

“No - no, he wanted to go,” she scrambles then exhales a little forcefully before speaking again, shifting “I’m sorry I wasn’t there, did everything go okay?”

“It’s alright, wish you coulda’ seen the look on Turner's face,” he laughs.

“Rio,” she chides but can’t help the giggle the visual pulls out of her. 

A comfortable quiet settles over them before he speaks again.

“So, you all alone tonight?” 

“Rio,” she warns quietly.

“What?” 

His voice is gruff and it's quiet wherever he is. 

Is he in bed, also alone?

“You can’t ask me things like that,” she exhales.

“Yeah, just like you can’t call me at midnight from bed.”

“It’s not midnight,” she scoffs.

“So you are in bed.” He says quietly, ignoring her response. “You wearing that little number, with the shorts? I can’t stop thinking about what you looked like, pink all over, mad at me.” 

“Rio,” she says but it's so quiet she hardly hears it herself.

“I think about what you looked like when you got the call, cursing me and climbing out of bed,” he laughs, wheezy and soft. “Didn’t even think about changing, just pulled on some boots to get to me.” 

She kicks her comforter off completely, rubs her bare legs together and the motion pushes the nightie she’s wearing up her thighs.

“Gretchen would have done the same,” Beth croaks.

He laughs at that. “Nah, darling. In the years I’ve known Gretchen she ain’t ever bailed me out that quick or wearing anything that good.”

“And how many years is that?” Beth asks, still curious about the incomplete Gretchen-Rio history. She’d read the files, sure, but Gretchen knew better than to document every aspect of that relationship.

“Why, you jealous?” 

She scoffs, a little too defensively. “I’m not jealous, I just don’t have the best understanding of your professional history,” she word-vomits, and hearing it echo back in the phone makes her sick.

He laughs, loudly.

“Don’t worry, Elizabeth, she’s not my type.”

She clamps her mouth shut before she’s tempted to ask what that type is. 

“I like ‘em strong but soft,” he says, answering her unasked question. “Blonde, stacked - ”

“Rio,” she hisses and he laughs again. 

She burrows deeper into her bed, twists against the blankets, and realizes she doesn’t remember the last time she’d done this - spoken to a man on the phone, had someone to keep her company.

He’s not a man, he’s a client.

And a criminal, at that.

The thought cuts through her, and the silence between them.

“Elizabeth,” he says quietly, and she’s not sure if he’s checking that she hadn’t hung up or whether he knows exactly the narrative spinning in her mind. “You’re thinking too much.”

She exhales sharply and sits up in bed.

“I’m not thinking enough.” 

He laughs again, quiet this time, breathless almost.

“It’s not funny - I can’t - “

“I know,” he cuts her off, and then it's quiet again. 

A moment of quiet passes before he speaks again.

“Would you?”

“What?”

“If you could, would you?” 

Oh god.

“It’s late,” she blurts out, heat blooming in her cheeks. 

Would she?

He hums back in agreement but doesn’t push any further. 

“I’m meeting with the prosecutor's office next week and then I’ll call you - “ she pauses for a moment, listening to his soft breathing on the other line. “They have an offer.”

He hums again and she wants to scream. 

“Good night, Elizabeth,” he finally says.

The prosecutor's office cancels their meeting hours before it’s scheduled.

It’s odd but Beth doesn’t make much of it, too distracted by screaming children. It’s her week so she shoots Gretchen an email and takes her kids to the park. 

They hit the drive-thru for shakes and burgers before they head home. It’s the best day she has in a long, long time. 

They’re a few blocks from the house when she finally notices it. A black sedan with tinted windows, following but not too close. 

She turns into the neighborhood and they follow. 

She turns into their street and they follow. 

The car speeds up, gets closer then backs off. 

She feels her pulse pick up, feels her hands shake. The kids are half asleep, exhausted from a day of running around so she panics as quietly as possible.

She passes by the house but doesn’t stop. Kenny doesn’t notice, the only one awake, too focused on his video game.

The car speeds up again, almost rear-ends her when she slows to turn into another street. She pulls her phone out of her purse, one hand still on the wheel.

The car speeds up again, swerves a bit.

She unlocks the phone, fingers shaking over the dial pad and dials.

The line rings once, then clicks familiarly when the call is connected. 

A deep voice greets her and she hopes her voice doesn’t shake when she speaks.

“There’s someone following me, I think, I-I don’t know what -,” she whispers quietly, eyes the kids in the rearview mirror. “I have my kids.”

“Where are you?” He responds immediately, voice calm but serious.

“I’m by the house,” she eyes her driveway. 

She’d turned around, made a circle around the neighborhood and it’d brought her right back.

She hits the garage button, the door begins lifting slowly and she speeds up. 

Kenny notices her sudden acceleration and finally looks up.

“I’m on my way, stay in the car.”

There's shuffling on his end of the line then the quiet sound of a car engine turning over. 

“I’m going to -” she pauses when she turns into the driveway, eyeing the car in her side-view mirror. They’d stopped, idling on the street.

“Stay in the car, Elizabeth,” he says again, a little too rough.

“I think it’s-” she whispers, squints at the mirror again, and exhales. “It’s Turner.” 

Agent Turner steps out of the car, stumbles for a second before he catches himself on the hood of the car. 

“Elizabeth.”

“It’s fine, Rio, I’m sorry,” she whispers, feels the burn in her cheeks, embarrassed.

“Go inside, Elizabeth, I’ll be right there.”

“You don’t need - “

He hangs up before she can finish her sentence. She drops her phone on the passenger seat and pulls into the garage. 

“Help your sister unbuckle, please. I’ll be right back,” she turns to Kenny before stepping out of the car. 

She ducks underneath the garage and steps outside before the door drops closed completely. 

Turner’s still leaning over the hood of his car, dressed in his normal suit except his tie is loose. He looks - she pauses in her assessment as she gets closer and gets a clearer look. 

He looks drunk.

“What are you doing here Agent Turner?” She asks when she’s close enough, halfway down her driveway.

Turner laughs, ducks his head, and steps around the car.

“You -” he begins with a heavy step, “are just as bad as him, you know that?”

“Are you drunk?” Beth hisses and turns back to the house to make sure the kids are still inside. “Why are you following me?”

“I had him, you know that, after all this time,” Turner slurs and steps closer. “You don’t know what he’s done.”

Beth steps back when he takes another step. He’s close enough that she can smell the alcohol reeking from him.

“Agent Turner, I don’t know what you - “

“He killed the witness, but you know that, don’t you?” Turner laughs, drily. “People like you and Gretchen are just as guilty,” he hisses.

Beth inhales sharply and takes another step back.

“They found him buried in a shallow grave,” Turner continues and Beth shakes her head.

“Stop it,” she hisses.

“He’ll get tired of you too,” Turner nods with another step.

Beth considers running but drunk or not Turner is bigger, taller, he’s close enough that he’d probably catch her. Screaming is probably a better idea.

Before she can decide and Turner can get any closer a black Cadillac turns onto the street. The lights flash, catching her attention, then Turners.

He parks turns the engine off and steps out. He doesn’t look at her, eyes boring into Turner as he starts walking.

“You shouldn’t be here, Jim,” Rio says and Beth realizes this is the first time she’s seen Rio address him directly. 

“Or what?” Turner asks lazily, turning his full attention to Rio. “You gonna get rid of me too?” 

Rio’s close enough that he could reach out and touch him by now, then he finally looks up to Beth and speaks.

“Go inside, Elizabeth.”

Beth’s still shaking but she’ll be damned if she’ll leave her client with the arresting agent on her front lawn.

“No,” she shakes her head and steps closer. 

“She can’t protect you,” Turner takes another step towards Rio who doesn’t budge.

Rio’s jaw ticks, eyes still fixed onto Elizabeth. 

“I don’t think Deputy Assistant Director Mathers would approve of you following the counselor, coming to her house,” Rio says quietly and turns to face Turner again.

Deputy Assistant Director Mathers.

Beth’s belly twists at the name, curiosity blooming at the idea that Rio knows the name of Turner’s boss. 

Turner’s shoulders tense in response.

“I think you should leave,” Rio says quietly and the two men stare at one another for what seems like an eternity before Turner breaks. 

“You watch your back, Elizabeth,” Turner says and digs a hand into his pocket for his keys. 

He takes a wobbly step towards his car, then another. Rio steps closer and they both watch Turner peel out of the neighborhood. 

“You alright?” Rio asks when Turner turns the corner and finally disappears.

Beth looks at him, and when she doesn’t answer he steps closer, touches her arm right above the elbow.

“How do you know about Mathers?” She snaps. 

His fingers wrap around her lower bicep, and he drags them down until he touches bare skin. The pads of his fingers wrap around her wrist, one finger sliding across her palm. 

“Answer me,” she says quietly, the adrenaline from Turner still pulsing through her veins. She fights to suppress a shiver from his touch as his fingers continue exploring.

“You won’t like my answer, Elizabeth.” 

He’s not looking at her, hasn’t made eye contact with her since he started touching her. His eyes are fixed on his fingers and her hand. 

“Did you kill the witness?” She whispers, finally. She already knows the answer but she wants to hear him admit it. She needs to hear the words come from him. 

His eyes snap up to her own, dark and sharp. He’s still touching her, fingers wrapped so tightly around her wrist. 

He doesn’t answer. His head tilts the barest inch as he studies her face.

“It was that night, wasn’t it?” She tugs her hand out of his grasp sharply, “Wasn’t it?” She raises her voice and hits him in the shoulder.

He doesn’t react, doesn’t budge at her hit. 

She laughs dryly, shakes her head.

“Why do you even employ me?” she hisses and turns to step away. He grabs her arm again, holds her before she can get too far. 

They’re still in the front yard she realizes, in broad daylight. He pulls her closer, digs her shoulder into his chest, and leans into her ear. 

“Is that what you’re mad about? That you can’t take this to court?”

She turns to face him, cheeks red and brows furrowed. 

“I’m not your puppet, Rio, for you to hide behind when it’s suitable for you.”

“What are you?”

“An attorney,” she pulls her arm away, “And I can withdraw from this agreement at any time.”

He laughs, quietly, eyes flashing with amusement. He slides his palm up her arm, sneaks it around her shoulder before she can pull away, and brushes her hair out of her face. 

“Don’t,” she mumbles. 

He ignores her and tucks the hair behind her ear.

“You need to stay away from Turner, do you understand me?”

“No.”

“Elizabeth,” he warns. 

She pulls away for the last time. “You don’t tell me what to do - you aren’t being truthful, you’re a -” 

She steps back, finally free of his body. 

He’s staring at her like he’s trying to figure something out and she shakes her head, taking another step back. She pulls a few fingers through her hair, ruffling the strands he’d tucked away.

“I meant what I said, if you can’t be truthful with me this isn’t going to work out. I’m not Gretchen, I’m not looking past this.”

His jaw ticks, eyes darkening. 

She gives him one final look, and a shake of her head before she turns back to the house.


End file.
